Mao went to the Beijing Botanical Garden in the western suburbs of Beijing to visit the tomb of Liang Qichao, where he encountered Liang’s spirit.

Liang Qichao was a great thinker of the late Qing and early Republican period, as well as a statesman, scholar, and educator. He passed away in Beijing in 1929 and was buried in the Botanical Garden. Mao had always deeply admired Liang but had never had the opportunity to meet him.

Liang was buried together with his wife. The tomb faces south, with nine steps of yellow granite in front and a brick-paved pathway leading up to it. On the right side of the path lies the grave of Liang’s seventh brother, Liang Qixiong; on the left is the grave of his son, Liang Sizhong. Pine and cypress trees are planted on both sides. The tomb is arched in shape and constructed mainly of yellow granite, creating an elegant and solemn atmosphere. It was designed by Liang’s son, the architect Liang Sicheng.

Mao loved the environment at the foot of Fragrant Hills. One night, lying in bed, he flipped through Liang’s early writings and recalled how, in his youth, he had been influenced by Liang. His thoughts drifted. Liang’s burning patriotism and radical reformist spirit had greatly inspired him; one could say Liang was his first revolutionary mentor in his youth.

As Mao drifted into a half-dreaming state, Liang’s figure gradually appeared in the distance and moved closer. Focusing his eyes, Mao saw that it was indeed the Liang Ren Gong he had long wished to meet.

Liang spoke first: “Runzhi, thank you for coming to see me today.”

Mao immediately replied: “Teacher Liang, greetings! You were my teacher a hundred years ago, and you are still my teacher today. You are twenty years older than I am, a senior teacher. Though I never met you in person, your ideas and spirit have guided me forward.”

Liang smiled: “You became Chairman of the nation—was my influence really that great?”

Mao said: “Your thought laid the foundation of my youth; it is indelible. I remember at seventeen reading the New Citizen Journal you founded—it opened a whole new world to me. I read it again and again until I could recite passages by heart. I admired you deeply and imitated your new prose style. Your essays were sharp in argument, clear in logic, passionate, powerful, yet fresh and accessible. They were widely circulated. You were the most influential political commentator of your time. It must have been unimaginably difficult when you first started publishing—you wrote editorials yourself, revised others’ submissions, handled layout and printing all on your own.”

Liang replied: “In the early days, it was indeed not easy. I even delivered the newspapers myself. Over twenty-seven years I founded seventeen different journals and newspapers. Most of the work I did personally—truly a one-man operation!”

Mao continued: “You wrote with emotional depth and fluent prose—thousands of words at a time, appreciated by both scholars and common readers. When I read your work, I was spellbound—sometimes so angry my hair stood on end, sometimes with tears soaking the page. Your writing had a unique magic. The ‘journalistic style’ you pioneered—neither classical nor vernacular, but something in between—was concise and easy to understand. It created a new literary style that spread everywhere. I admire you most for your journalism.”

Mao then asked: “I have always wondered—why did you consistently advocate constitutional monarchy rather than revolution?”

Liang answered: “A democratic republic is good in theory, but considering China’s national conditions at the time, it was unattainable. I studied Europe and America; American-style democracy would not have worked in China. Even Britain retains a queen; Spain and Sweden also keep monarchs under constitutional systems. Constitutional monarchy combined with parliamentary democracy functioned well. For China, that would have been the best choice. To overthrow the imperial system outright would inevitably lead to chaos and civil war.”

Mao said: “But Sun Yat-sen’s revolution succeeded, didn’t it?”

Liang replied: “On the surface, the Qing emperor was overthrown in 1911. Yet until his death in 1925, Sun Yat-sen still said ‘the revolution has not yet succeeded.’ In reality, China remained in turmoil and civil war.”

Mao said: “Sun Yat-sen cooperated with us; wasn’t the First United Front effective? It was Chiang Kai-shek who split and started fighting.”

Liang responded: “At that time, Sun Yat-sen was effectively manipulated by Stalin—just as you were later influenced by him. The cooperation between the Nationalists and Communists had conditions: the Soviet Union supplied money and weapons, and the Northern Expedition was directed by Soviet advisers. Stalin instructed your Communist Party to infiltrate the Nationalists—‘the body is the Nationalist Party, but the soul is Communist.’ With powerful propaganda, the Soviet model as inspiration, and financial and military backing, many young people followed you. One of my own sons sympathized with you. I long warned that communism was poison and could not save China, but he would not listen.”

Liang continued: “Later, Chiang Kai-shek realized he could not control the Communists and began purging them in 1927. You retaliated, and the two sides slaughtered each other. Tens of thousands died; countless passionate youths sacrificed their lives. Both sides were deceived by Stalin’s expansionist ambitions. He sought world revolution, and China was his first target.”

Mao replied: “At the time, we were convinced that following the Russian path was correct.”

Liang said: “Chen Duxiu once believed so too. He was the first among you to awaken to Stalin’s intentions. He opposed taking Soviet money and weapons to wage civil war. After the split, Stalin made him a scapegoat, removed him as General Secretary, and labeled him a ‘Right opportunist.’”

Mao then asked: “Another question—why did you later part ways politically with Kang Youwei?”

Liang replied: “Kang Youwei was my teacher, fifteen years my senior. I always regarded him as such. When he died in poverty, I sent money to help with funeral arrangements. But politically we diverged. After the 1911 Revolution, he continued to support restoration. When Zhang Xun attempted to restore the Qing, Kang became involved. Once the Qing had fallen, restoration was impossible—it would only be a puppet regime, much like the Japanese later did in Manchukuo. After the revolution, I no longer supported monarchism.”

Mao said: “You advanced with the times.”

Liang answered: “After the revolution, civil war was unavoidable. I hoped to serve the nation and held short government posts under Yuan Shikai and Duan Qirui. But when I realized I could accomplish little, I resigned. Kang desired power; I only wanted to do things. If I could not, I devoted myself to scholarship and teaching.”

Mao asked: “Today, what path should China take? Is Marxism-Leninism still viable?”

Liang replied: “Marxism-Leninism as a foundation for the state is certainly not viable. Even the Soviet Union abandoned it in 1991. Constitutional democracy is the global trend. China should follow the tide of the times. I propose a dual foundation: public morality through democratic constitutionalism, and private morality through traditional ethics—represented by Confucius and two thousand years of tradition. Public virtue must rest upon private virtue; and private virtue requires self-cultivation.”

Mao asked: “When can constitutional democracy be realized?”

Liang answered: “That depends on conditions and timing. Build the foundation steadily. First, the disastrous policies and reputation of your thirty years in power must be addressed and reformed. A transitional model akin to constitutional monarchy could work—perhaps ‘the Communist Party as monarch,’ if the majority consent. If the Party’s name is too tarnished, it could even change its name. What matters is constitutional rule and law.”

Mao nodded: “I understand. ‘Dual foundation for the state’—an excellent insight. I agree.”

Finally Mao asked: “I’ve heard that before you passed away, there was a medical accident—that Western medicine harmed you?”

Liang replied: “One could say so. At the time, Western medicine was fashionable; traditional Chinese medicine was dismissed. Friends urged me to trust Western surgery at Peking Union Medical College Hospital. They removed a kidney that should not have been removed. My condition worsened, and there was no dialysis then. For a time, after switching to traditional Chinese medicine, I had improved.”

Mao sighed: “A profound lesson. Otherwise we might have had even more of your works and contributions.”

Liang said: “I had always been strong; I expected to live at least to seventy. Man proposes, Heaven disposes.”

Mao responded: “I learned some prudence from you. It is better not to trust doctors entirely—I believed them only halfway. I feared surgery all my life and lived to eighty-three. With conservative treatment, you might have reached seventy-five. What a pity.”

Liang said: “Traditional Chinese medicine has revived and even gone global. I hear that since President Nixon visited China in 1972, Americans have gradually accepted it. Licensed acupuncturists number in the tens of thousands; many medical schools now have departments of Chinese medicine. Americans even grow Chinese herbs.”

Mao concluded: “Yes, you left too early. Fortunately, you left fourteen million characters of writing—forty volumes. Enough for a lifetime of study. Your works are an inexhaustible treasure.”

Liang said: “One must always advance with the times and follow the world’s currents. A new era requires new development.”

With that, Liang felt the conversation had reached its end. He bid farewell and withdrew. Mao repeatedly thanked and took leave of his mentor.

NEXT: 10. Matteo Ricci（1552–1610）